


easy as pie

by cinnabun



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Birthday Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabun/pseuds/cinnabun
Summary: It's Asgore's birthday. If only he'd come out of the room to celebrate it with you.





	easy as pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piixiecv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piixiecv/gifts).

* * *

You hummed softly to yourself as you rolled the dough between your flour-covered palms.

“What kind of pie should I make?”

There were so many different types. Apple, blueberry, peach, pecan, cinnamon, pumpkin—and you liked all of them. But you weren’t sure what kind of pie Asgore liked.

He always seemed to dodge the question when you asked, for whatever reason. So, you were flying by the seat of your pants here. You wanted to make something he’d enjoy.

Maybe apple would be the best bet? It was a classic. And you could add some cinnamon to it, for spice. Or maybe pumpkin-spice would be more appropriate for the impending Fall weather. But maybe that was too predictable.

You laid the dough flat and reached for a rolling pin. It was a cute one, with little patterns embedded in the wood. It made the dough look like it had flowers carved into it.

The sight of them reminded you of the bubbling pot of tea you’d set off to the side. The machine had stopped hissing, so that meant it was done. You switched the pot off, surveying the dark amber liquid inside. Golden flower tea was definitely one of both of your favorites, so at the least, you knew that wouldn’t be any problem.

You decided to set the pie idea aside for the moment and check on your main course.

The chicken was cooking nicely, spinning in a slow circle in the rotisserie machine. You could see the juices dripping off of it. The smell of it was enough to make your stomach growl. A fresh bowl of hand-tossed salad sat in the fridge, cooling as you waited for dinnertime to approach.

You still had a few hours left to prepare everything else, including the pie.

Taking ahold of the to-be crust, you began work carving it into the right shape and size to fit into the pie-tin. As you settled it into the pan, crimping the edges, you settled on cinnamon-apple. There was nothing wrong with the classics, after all! Besides, you’d bought too many Granny Smiths at the grocery store the other day, and you needed a use for them before they started to spoil.

The crust slid into the fridge, next to the salad, where it would wait for the next half hour or so as you prepared the filling.

You reached for the first apple and a paring knife, and began to work it around the apple, allowing the skin to fall in messy curls onto the cutting board you’d set out for the vegetables.

As you sliced the apple, you felt your mind wandering.

It was amazing to think that this was your four-year anniversary together. Time had gone by so fast, and it still felt like it was just yesterday that you’d run into him at the supermarket, after you’d both reached for the same jar of peanut-butter. A jar of the same peanut-butter sat in your cupboard, nearly empty. You’d have to grab more the next time you went grocery shopping.

The sound of chirping birds outside your window brought a sense of peacefulness to the day. It almost felt perfect. You wished you knew how to make it perfect. Because, despite your efforts, all done in the memory of someone you loved with every fiber of your being, said king of monsters hadn’t left your bedroom all day.

It wasn’t an issue of laziness. Asgore was a man who loved comfort, but he was far from lazy.

No, this was something pie and golden flower tea alone couldn’t fix. What he was suffering from was a kind of emptiness and pain that you knew you could never really understand, or fix. But that was the important thing, you had to keep reminding yourself: it wasn’t your job to “fix” Asgore, just to be there for him. It was his responsibility to take the steps for himself, and he’d been doing a good job, before this relapse.

What was it that had brought this on? Seasonal depression usually didn’t kick in for you until Fall or Winter, and though Fall was nearing, as far as Mother Nature was concerned, it was still summertime.

Maybe it was the memory of something you just couldn’t understand.

The Underground had never been particularly kind to Monsters, and it was taking an equally long time for the Surface to get used to the transition as well. For every little step forward, it felt like society was taking five steps back—maybe even ten, sometimes. It was really incredibly frustrating.

You wished you knew how to help more than what you could already offer. But sometimes that just had to be enough.

You set the paring knife and half peeled apple aside, sighing as you glanced at the clock. Time was going by so slowly. The day was dragging on forever, and even though it was a lovely day, something in you just wanted it to be over and done with as quickly as it could be.

Since you still had some time before things would be finished with dinner, you decided to stop by the room and check in on your partner. You filled a teacup with hot, fresh tea and carefully carried it up the stairs, stopping in front of your bedroom door.

You knocked, softly. “Asgore?”

There was the sound of shuffling, then a soft, low, “Yes?”

“Would you like some tea?”

“…Yes.”

You slowly pushed the door open, allowing a single beam of light to crack into the darkness. It cascaded across your bed, landing across the greying, hollowed cheeks of your king. His eyes were ringed with circles so dark that they were practically purple. His hair was messy, a side-effect of bedhead. He looked so much older than you knew he actually was. Or maybe, if time had been able to catch-up with him the way that he said it did for Boss Monsters, it was actually more accurate.

Cautiously, you approached the bedside, holding a hand beneath the cup to keep it from dripping onto the plush carpet of your bedroom.

“Here, freshly made and piping hot. Just like you like it.”

He pulled himself out from under the covers in a painfully slow way. Asgore loomed over you in the dark, staring off into nothingness. Still, a small smile graced his lips as he took the warm cup from your hands.

“Ah…thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You said in a voice so soft that it was practically a whisper. “How are you feeling?”

Asgore took a long sip from the teacup. As he pulled it away from his lips, he let out a long, deep sigh. “I would like to say better…but truthfully, I do not feel that much different.”

“Hopefully the tea will help?”

Another smile, slightly more genuine this time, less polite. “Yes. Thank you for the offer, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” You said, fidgeting in your spot on the bed. You wanted to reach out and hold him, to wrap your arms around his big fuzzy shoulders and cradle his messy mop of graying-blonde hair until he felt better. But you hesitated.

Maybe it was nervousness, or embarrassment. Whatever it was, Asgore seemed to sense it. He placed the cup aside, on the bedside table, and turned his clouded eyes up to meet yours.

“You seem tense.” He said, reaching out to take both of your hands. His paws were so big, he could hold both of your hands in just one of his. “Would you care to talk about it?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?” You shared a tired smile. “It’s a big day, you know.”

His grip tensed slightly. With another sigh, his shoulders slumped. “I would suppose that it is.”

“I would ask how old you are now, but…” The thought of it made you wrinkle your nose. “Maybe it’s better that I don’t.”

He laughed softly. “I don’t blame you. It’s been so long now; I can hardly remember myself. Thinking about it just makes me feel even older.”

“Since you’re not a fan of cake, I decided on apple-cinnamon pie. How does that sound?”

You could see, even in the darkness, how his eyes lit up at the thought. “Wonderful. Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re very welcome, love.”

He ducked his head, a blush tinting his hollowed cheeks as he bit back a smile. His tiny fangs peeked out from under his upper lip as he nibbled on his lower one. You had to stop yourself from leaning in and kissing him silly. He was just so damn adorable sometimes.

“Would you like to open your presents now?”

He paused, thinking it over. You could see the cogs turning in his head, as he tried to settle on a decision. It was exactly like asking a kid if they wanted to open one of their Christmas presents early on Christmas Even or to wait for Christmas Day.

“Maybe…just one, wouldn’t hurt?”

You laughed and stood, clapping your hands together. You knew exactly the gift you were going to choose. “Wait right here, I’ll be right back!”

“I’ll be waiting.” He said, his eyes never leaving you as you turned on your heel and practically danced out of the room, into the well-lit hallway.

You made a beeline for the broom closet near the front door. Asgore almost never looked there when he needed something. In fact, he’d look everywhere but. Which is what made it the perfect hiding spot.

Peeking back over your shoulder, just to make sure he hadn’t decided to follow you, you opened the door, revealing the contents waiting inside.

It was mostly just coats, jackets and shoes, some boxes of supplies and old knick-knacks that you hadn’t put up for the upcoming holidays quite yet. An umbrella or two, even a couple of hats. But hidden in the far corner, behind all of those distractions, sat a tiny, perfectly square box. It was wrapped neatly in red paper, with a bright yellow ribbon tied neatly and sitting on top.

You had the rest of his presents sitting in the kitchen, on the dining room table, where they’d continue to wait until after dinner. But this gift was special, when you had started planning, you’d gone through extra measures to make sure that it would be the last one he would open.

But now seemed like the perfect time for him to open it, even if it was a little early.

You tucked the box carefully into the crook of your arm, holding it close to your chest as you made your way back to the bedroom.

He was still sitting there, waiting patiently as you stepped into the darkness.

“I’ll have to turn on the lights, now.”

The both of you flinched when you flipped the switch, the brightness a shock as it flooded through the room like someone had pulled the sun into your bedroom. Asgore blinked a few times, rubbing the sleepy from his eyes. When his gaze landed on you again, his eyes jumped to the box sitting in your arms, and you watched his entire face brighten.

“I…I take it that is for me?”

“It sure is!” You giggled, holding it out as you approached. He took it from you, gingerly, holding it in his lap like it was the most precious thing in the world. You laughed again as you reclaimed your spot at the end on the side of the bed, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re supposed to open it first, then ogle at the surprise. Not the other way around, Gorey.”

He resumed nibbling on his lower lip. The pink flushed across his cheeks reached all the way down to the tips of his ears. Even though he still looked exhausted, he was noticeably more animated, turning the box this way and that like a curious child. He even lifted it up to his ear, and gently shook it.

“Careful!” You chided, playfully.

“Oh!” He quickly put it back into his lap. “My apologies! I hope I did not break it.”

“It’s not gonna break that easily, trust me.” You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Just hurry up and open it!”

“Okay! Okay…” He took a deep breath, his fingers dancing around the ribbon like he wasn’t sure where to start. He finally picked one of the curls, hooking a claw into it. With one tug, the entire ribbon loosened and fell away. Asgore blinked in surprise, resting his hand on the top of the box.

He looked to you for assurance. You gave him a gentle smile and a wink, gesturing for him to open it.

Asgore gently lifted the top of the box away, and as he stared down at his present, a wide, happy smile stretched across his face. He grinned from ear-to-ear as he reached in and carefully pulled out a large, fancy scrapbook.

It was a lovely beige color, with ornate, delicate patterns woven into the leather binding in faux gold string. A beautiful watercolor painting adorned the front, of a messy, but elegant bouquet of various flowers.

“Look inside.” You instructed.

He looked to you again, still smiling, before flipping it open to a random page.

“Oh!” Asgore gasped. “Is this…?”

You waited as he explored the insides of the little book, looking through all the different sections. There were blank sheets, some accompanied by dioramas of different flowers of all kinds. Some were colored in with watercolor. Most were blank, with scattered text dotting the page around them, pointing out the plants’ anatomy, facts, and various other little tidbits that only the most hardcore of gardeners would be able to relate to. Lucky for you, and Asgore, he fit the bill to a t.

“It’s like,” you waved your hands through the air as you spoke, trying to find the best way to describe it, “like a book about gardening, combined with a scrapbook. You can put pictures in it, and pressed flowers, and it’s got lots of little do-it-yourself charts and stuff that you can fill out will stuff from your own garden! I put something special in the back.”

He flipped to it eagerly, then paused on the image that greeted him. You watched several emotions flash across his face. Something happy, then painful, then finally, content.

“It is lovely, dearest.” Asgore whispered, running his hands over the array of pressed flowers you’d decorated the last two pages with. Seeds, petals, and paint dripped across your makeshift canvas, forming the portrait of an abstract, vivacious garden. Full of colors and life, and everything else you could pack into the couple of pieces of blank paper.

“You really like it?” You wrung your hands nervously. It had taken you a long time to finish it, and now looking at it, you were actually kind of proud of what you’d managed to accomplish.

“I love it.” He said, reaching out again to take your hand in his own. He lifted it to his lips, gentle kissing each of your knuckles. “And I…love you.”

You felt a tornado of butterflies flitting around in your stomach as his sweet gesture and low voice. He knew exactly which buttons to press to make you flustered, and as you caught the twinkle in his eye, you knew that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I—I’m really glad you like it.” You sighed, trying not to focus on the way your face burned, like someone was holding you in front of an open oven.

“I do,” he closed the book gently, holding it to his chest with the brightest smile you’d seen on him all day, “I’m going to put a lot of use into this, I promise you that.”

“Good! I’m going to hold you to that.”

You took the opportunity to swoop in and steal a kiss from him. But as you pulled away—or tried to, at least, Asgore’s hand came up to wrap around the back of your head, pulling you back.

His claws tangled in your hair as you kissed, the bristles of his thick beard scratching your chin and cheeks. You could feel his fangs prick your lips, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t even mind. You leaned in and kissed him with everything you had.

You didn’t stop kissing until the harsh buzzing tone of the oven timer rang out, ripping through your tender moment like the much unwanted guest that it was.

You groaned as the both of you untangled from one other. “Now of all times?”

Asgore’s entire face glowed a satisfied pink. He was breathing heavily, his eyes shimmering with thousands of tiny stars. He looked so genuinely happy.

“Perhaps the distraction would be good. Before we get too…carried away.”

Your cheeks burned at the tone in his voice. To your surprise, Asgore stood up, dragging himself onto his feet, still clutching the journal like a child with his favorite storybook. “Would you happen to require any help, dear?”

“Actually,” you smiled, “I was just about to start working on that pie.”

“Then I’m just in time.” He returned the smile with a little crinkle of his nose. “You said apple-cinnamon right?”

You nodded. “You hungry?”

“Ah, well…” He didn’t have a chance to answer, because his stomach did the answering for him. The sound of the growl bounced around the cozy room, so loud and commanding that it made you smirk.

“I take that as a yes.”

He followed you into the kitchen, staring at the wide array of food with amazement in his eyes as you reached over and turned the oven timer off, opening the door to let the food inside begin cooling. “All of this, just for me?”

“Yep!” You chirped, ”We’ve got roasted chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, sweet potato fries, homemade macaroni and cheese, mixed salad…”

You had to count off on your fingers to remember everything. It was like cooking Thanksgiving dinner, but just for the two of you. There was no worry about food going to waste in this household, though. Not with Asgore’s appetite.

You watched his hungry gaze travel from dish to dish. You could practically see his mouth watering. His stomach rumbled again, and he placed a hand over it, as if trying to quiet it down.

“Dearest, you didn’t have to—”

“Shush,” you picked up a spatula and turned, playfully threatening to smack him with it. “Not a word out of you, Mister. Now I’m going to work on this crust. If you could finish up the filling, I would appreciate it.”

“Ah…of course.” He nodded, approaching the bowl of sliced apples you’d left on the countertop eagerly. You watched him pop a slice into his mouth and chew thoughtfully. “Where should I start?”

“Just mix what I have on the counter over there into that big mixing bowl.” You instructed, turning back to where the top of your pie crust sat, waiting for you to roll it flat and begin primping and pinching it into shape. “And don’t eat all of the apples! We need them for the pie.”

“Of course.” He chuckled. “Oh! And before I forget.”

He pulled the journal from under his arm and moved into the living room, gently setting it on the counter of the nearby side table. Among the pictures you’d taken together, memorabilia of your time together, and other remnants of your love-filled memories, the book sat, waiting patiently for his attention.

“Now I’ll definitely remember where it is.” He explained as he turned, catching sight of your questioning gaze.

You smiled as a familiar warmth curled through your chest, blooming like the flowers sitting inside the book.

You worked quietly, stepping around each other to reach the ingredients you needed in such a graceful way that it almost felt like dancing. The sun had begun to set past the trees, bathing the kitchen in oranges and pinks. The colors sparked and caught fire in Asgore’s hair, giving him the appearance of a Monster that you imagined he once was. And who you hoped he could one day be, again.

This would definitely be a good start.

Asgore finished mixing everything together and placed the bowl off to the side. He turned, reaching around you for a paper towel.

As Asgore leaned in close, you stood on your tiptoes, catching him by the beard. He let out a surprised gasp as you gently drew him down to your level, giving him a tiny, sweet kiss. He tasted sweet, just like the apples you had bought.

He stared at you as you pulled away, the tiny divots of his pupils bouncing around as upside-down hearts inside of his eyes. As the sun danced around his face, it made them look even brighter. It was the kind of memory you never, ever wanted to forget.

“Happy birthday, Asgore.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> A short commission for a very dear friend of mine. <3


End file.
